


nothing short of thankful

by shmabs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shmabs/pseuds/shmabs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's hunkered down on a bench right outside the still-dark Starbucks, thankful for the mittens that Sam’s mother had knitted for him and clutching his newly-updated astronomy journal to his chest, when he hears a jingle of keys and a door creak open to his left. His head snaps up and his heart leaps because thank fucking god someone’s finally come to open the damn Starbucks.</p><p>But no, it’s not the Starbucks guy (whose name Steve always forgets, no matter how many times he was there when he opened up), it’s someone going into the new bakery that just opened across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing short of thankful

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for tumblr user jeanenjolras as part of the super awesome star-spangled exchange on tumblr. I couldn't resist the siren song of baker!bucky, so I hope they like it too! you can come yell at me about captain america on tumblr at foreverboybucky.tumblr.com

It’s five-fifteen in the morning and Steve is standing outside the local Starbucks (well, one of the local Starbucks – there are three in a four-block radius from his university, but this one has the best whipped cream and is, therefore, his favorite) waiting for it to open. He knows, vaguely, that it’ll probably be another thirty or forty-five minutes before anyone comes to open up, but he figures he’ll just wait it out instead of going all the way back to his apartment.  He hasn’t actually been back to his apartment in, he tries to count in his head, about two and a half days which is, according to some people (Sam), “weird and concerning,” but some people should just mind their own business.  Besides it’s not Steve’s fault that there was a supernova for the past three nights and the best place to view it was the university observatory, which is a good hour drive from his apartment, so he figured he might as well just spend the night there.

So yeah, he’s tired (naps can really only get you so far when you refuse to sleep through the night) and wants his first coffee of the day and also maybe somewhere that he can sit down and look at his new supernova pictures that isn’t below freezing.

He’s hunkered down on a bench right outside the still-dark Starbucks, thankful for the mittens that Sam’s mother had knitted for him and clutching his newly-updated astronomy journal to his chest when he hears a jingle of keys and a door creak open to his left. His head snaps up and his heart leaps because thank fucking god someone’s finally come to open the damn Starbucks.

But no, it’s not the Starbucks guy (whose name Steve always forgot, no matter how many times he was there when he opened up), it’s someone going into the new bakery that just opened across the street.

Steve looks at his watch and shivers. Just thinking about waiting thirty more minutes sounds like hell, but he’s got classes in a few hours and really can’t afford to waste so much time getting back to his nice, warm apartment with it’s fancy coffee machine that Peggy gave him for his birthday last year and those special bagels that Bruce always insists on leaving. 

In fact, Steve’s so lost in thought, fantasizing about how much better his little shoebox apartment is than the freezing bench he’s sitting on, that he doesn’t notice the man that unlocked the bakery walking up to him until he hears a loud cough right beside his ear that makes him jump in his seat and drop the pictures he had just developed at the 24-hour CVS all over the icy sidewalk.

“Fuck,” Steve yelps, scrambling to collect all the photographs before they get ruined by coming into contact with the muddy, icey ground, “fuck fuck fuck me, fuckin’ _fuck_.”

The guy looks horrified and starts helping, plucking up the stragglers that Steve missed and stacking them up on the bench beside his backpack.

“Shit, I’m really sorry about that, I just saw you sitting out here and, well, I’m opening up the shop right now to start baking the cinnamon rolls so I thought maybe you’d wanna come in and get out of the cold for a while instead of sitting out here because of, uh, the cold. And stuff.”

Steve glances up from his position on the (really, incredibly disgusting) ground, and the first thing he notices is that this guy has a nice jawline and some killer eyebrow piercings.

“Um,” Steve says, eloquent as always, “yeah, that would be - that would be great.”

The guy, and Steve really should probably ask him what his name is, grins a bit sheepishly (he’s cute, Steve thinks, and then immediately banishes the thought because he is _busy_ he has _important space data_ to analyze he can’t be mooning over some cute baker when exams are right around the corner) and ushers Steve inside the heavenly warm bakery. And that’s not the only thing heavenly about it - as soon as Steve walks through the door he smells an incredible mixture of cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, vanilla, chocolate, and a million other delicious things that he can’t even name.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Steve breathes reverently, and hears a choked-off laugh from behind him. He flushes all the way to the tips of his ears (he knows, because he can feel every damn blood vessel) but maybe the guy (whose name Steve _still does not know_ ) will just mistake him for being half-frozen instead of embarrassed half to death.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” the guy - Bucky, apparently - says, as if he can read Steve’s mind. “And you are…”

“Steve,” Steve fills in quickly, clutching his pictures to his chest. He tries to return the winning smile that Bucky sends his way, but probably only succeeds in looking awkward and cold.

“Well Steve, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And I’m sorry about all your pictures - I can get ‘em reprinted for you if you want.” Steve flips through his stack of supernova photographs but there are really only one or two that are ruined, so Steve just shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s not worth it,” Steve says, going for nonchalant and missing the mark according to the way Bucky squints his eyes and the corners of his mouth tighten, so Steve hastily adds, “I mean, I’d rather have a cinnamon roll anyways - see if you can do better than Starbucks.”

Bucky just stares at him for a moment longer, but then he cracks a grin and hustles Steve to a little table in the back.

“You’re gonna regret the day you mentioned my cinnamon rolls in the same breath as that abomination.”

Steve lets out a startled laugh as Bucky shoulders his way through the door and into the kitchen. After a few seconds Steve hears the clatter of pans being thrown in the oven, a sound Steve hasn’t heard since the last time he visited his grandma, and then a loud crashing noise, followed immediately by Bucky’s rough voice spewing curses in what sounds like Russian. Well, Steve assumes that they’re curses, but he thinks it’s a pretty good assumption.

Bucky emerges a few minutes later, cheeks shaded pink and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow.

“I uh, dropped one of the muffin tins.” Bucky pauses for a moment, scuffs the tiled floor with the toe of his combat boots and winces.  “On my foot.”

Steve cracks up, because he’s been awake all night and this - this whole situation - is hilarious and deserves to be laughed at. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve wheezes eventually, grabbing for the inhaler he always keeps in his backpack. He takes a puff, just enough to let him breathe easy, and then shoves it in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, more coherent now that he isn’t fighting for air. “It’s just been a long night. Long week, actually. Exams are coming up and all my teachers decided that now would be a good time to pile on the work. Not to mention there was a supernova the past few nights that I couldn’t miss so, yeah. I wasn’t laughing at you -” Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, “-ok, maybe I was laughing at you a little bit, but I really needed that, so. Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Bucky says, swiping absently at a streak of flour on his cheek. “You like space, then? What’s your horoscope? I’m a Pisces.”

Steve looks up at Bucky from his seat at the little table, horrified, until he realizes that Bucky isn't actually serious. Steve cracks up laughing again, and realizes that he hasn’t been this relaxed in, well, weeks probably. He needed this, needed to wind down a little before exams come around.

Bucky just smiles at him, all soft and gentle, and Steve is an adult goddammit, he should not have to reach for his inhaler a second time just because some cute guy wearing an apron and combat boots smiles at him. 

Thankfully, the oven timer goes off right then, presumably because the cinnamon rolls are ready, and Bucky winks at Steve before going back into the kitchen.

While Bucky’s out of sight Steve gives himself a pep talk. Although it’s less of a pep talk and more of a bargain he makes with himself. It pretty much consists of him telling himself, “final exams are in _three weeks_ , you cannot afford to be distracted right now; in four weeks you’ll be done for the semester, so maybe you can think about asking him out then but not until then, no seriously, final exams are in three weeks” on repeat until Bucky gets back, looking smug as hell and holding a plate of cinnamon rolls that are absolutely drenched in icing. Steve tries to look unimpressed, but then the smell hits him and he can’t help the involuntary little noise that claws it’s way out of his throat.

His mouth waters and he licks his lips because that is the most delicious thing he’s ever smelled and he needs to consume it _right now holy shit_.

“Careful,” Bucky says cheerfully, “they’re hot.”

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Steve from shoving an entire cinnamon roll into his mouth, scalding his lips and tongue in the process but still groaning in delight because Bucky is a goddamn culinary genius.

“You like them?” Bucky asks, looking nervous, and Steve can only stare at Bucky like he’s an idiot because he just had oral sex with that cinnamon roll and Bucky wants to know if he _liked_ it.

“No. I hated it. It was overcooked and dry, the icing didn’t have enough vanilla in it, and I couldn’t even taste the cinnamon. I demand a refund.”

Bucky’s expression (and god, Steve can’t think of anyone that has a more expressive face than Bucky) goes from hurt, to angry to amused in the span of about five seconds. He laughs, loud and unselfconscious, and then punches Steve in the shoulder, gentle but still hard enough to make him rock back in his chair.

“God, you’re such a punk. See if I ever let you try my chocolate cinnamon cake with that attitude.”

~~~~~

Steve barely makes it to his nine o’clock astronomy class on time and spends the whole time thinking (not daydreaming) about cute boys with blue eyes and messy hair and full, pink lips. He doesn’t really catch most of what Dr. Foster says (something to do with interstellar dust and how the absence of it can tell them just as much, if not more, than it’s presence), but he was planning on going to her office some time soon to review for the final anyways, so he can bring it up then.

For now, he just waves at Dr. Foster as he exits the lecture hall, getting a distracted nod in return and then promptly running smack into a huge blonde man trying to enter the room. He’s so tall Steve has to crane his neck back just to see something other than his (extremely muscular) arms and (incredibly solid) chest. The man looks down and smiles at Steve cheerfully, then apologizes profusely for running into him and introduces himself as Thor. Steve doesn’t know if it’s a last name or a first name or a title of some kind, so he just kind of...ignores it and stumbles his way through small talk.

“Well, it’s alright. I’m not bleeding so I think I’ll make it. And I’m Steve by the way. Steve Rogers.”

“It’s a pleasure Steve,” Thor (Mr. Thor? Professor Thor? Dr. Thor?) says genially. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing matters to discuss with my lady Jane.”

It takes Steve a minute to understand who he’s talking about.

“Oh, you mean Dr. Foster? Sorry, yeah, I was just leaving.”

Steve shuffles his way around Thor and glances over his shoulder just in time to see Dr. Foster hoisted into Thor’s arms, face open and laughing before the door to the lecture hall swings shut.

 _Damn_ , Steve thinks to himself. _Dr. Foster’s got game_.

After astronomy, he meets Sam at the local Chipotle, because he’s weak and their chicken bowls are too delicious to resist. He tells Sam about his run-in with Dr. Foster’s mysterious foreign lover while they wait in line to order. They get their food and go in search of an empty table, managing to snag one right as the previous occupants get up to leave. They chat some more - Sam tells him a story about a guy in his engineering class that blew up half the room and then yelled “WRITE THAT DOWN!" - but soon enough they’ve lapsed into companionable silence.

It’s not until Sam nudges him under the table that Steve realizes he’s been gazing out the window and sighing periodically.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “You got somethin’ on your mind? You know you can talk to me about it.”

Steve sighs, because he does know; Sam’s been there for him since they were roommates in undergrad, since Steve was too confused and scared to come out. At first he didn’t think he wanted to tell Sam about meeting Bucky, it was something just for him, but now he finds that he’s almost desperate to talk it over with someone else.

Sam listens patiently as Steve explains in minute detail everything that happened earlier. He tries not to wax poetic about Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s arms and Bucky’s piercings, but he can tell he doesn’t do such a good job of that by the way Sam keeps rolling his eyes. Finally, he gets to the part where Bucky waved him off as he left for class, even though there was a line of customers at least seven people deep.

Sam whistles and raises both eyebrows this time. “Damn, you’ve got it bad. And it sounds like he does too. You know what that means...”

“No, uh-uh, absolutely not. I’m not gonna introduce you to him when I’ve just met him a few hours ago, just forget it.”

The grin that comes over Sam’s face makes Steve very nervous, and for good reason. 

“Your first mistake was telling me the name of the bakery, Stevie boy.”

“Shit.”

So they go back to Cannella to do some recon, which basically consists of Steve trying to sink into the floor while Sam makes doe eyes at one of the other employees (Steve vaguely remembers Bucky mentioning his coworkers earlier, and thinks her name might be Natalia, or maybe Natalie).

Really the only thing that makes the “recon” worthwhile is the look on Bucky’s face when he notices Steve - it’s like he lights up, huge grin overtaking his face while Steve can only wave shyly and blush like a damn twelve year old.

When they leave, after two hours of Sam mooning over Natasha (he only knows her name because Sam had whispered it dreamily once he got back to their table with his double chocolate chip brownie) and Steve trying valiantly (and most likely failing) not to moon over Bucky, Steve gives himself a very stern lecture about how important it is to study for finals and get good grades and he absolutely cannot ask Bucky out until after he’s done with all his exams.

~~~~~

He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but it becomes part of Steve’s morning routine to stop by Cannella every time he’s in the area. It’s not just because Bucky’s usually there, as _some people_ would suggest, which is funny because Steve is pretty sure _some people_ should just _fuck off,_ and besides Bucky’s only _usually_ there, not always, so _some people_ can also _suck it_.

The other employees are a bit less distracting than Bucky, although Steve is pretty sure that that only applies to him since Natasha is the most frighteningly beautiful person that Steve’s ever met and Clint is always disobeying the dress code so he can wear tanktops that show off his truly phenomenal arms. Bucky’s gorgeous, of course - Steve’s pretty sure it would be difficult for people not to notice that - but usually the customers either stare at Natasha’s breasts very blatantly, to which Nat responds by refusing to put a cardboard slip on their scalding hot coffee, or at Clint’s arms very blatantly, to which Clint responds by winking and flexing his biceps.

Still, Steve manages to get a decent amount of work done, even though he can’t help but stare every time Bucky comes out of the back, covered in flour and carrying a tray of fresh goodies. He makes it through final exams by mainlining Clint’s specialty espresso drink (the aptly named Corpse Reviver) and eating whatever Bucky puts in front of him (usually cinnamon rolls or apple crullers).

After his last final, Steve makes his way to Cannella and plops down at his usual table, hidden in the back corner right next to the door leading into the kitchen. He considers taking a nap, since he hasn’t slept in almost three days, but decides not to risk it. If he falls asleep now, there’s no telling how long he’ll be out. The last time he went this long without sleep he ended up passing out on Sam’s couch for fourteen hours. Sam likes to tell people that the only reason he knew Steve wasn’t dead was because of his snoring. Steve can just imagine laying his head down on the cool wooden table and allowing his body to finally just _stop_ for more than a few minutes at a time, and then waking up hours later with his cheek stuck in a puddle of drool and, at the very least, Clint with a video of his loud snoring. So, no, he doesn’t dare fall asleep right now. Instead, he decides to do something with just as much, if not more, potential for embarrassment, because, apparently, he hates himself. 

He gets up from his little table and uses his shoulder to swing open the kitchen door dramatically, ready as he’ll ever be to ask Bucky out on a date. Unfortunately, his grand entrance doesn’t go according to plan, because he uses just a bit too much force (damn these well-oiled door hinges) which causes the door to slam against the wall. Now, Steve could probably recover from that, making a quip about how he doesn’t know his own strength, getting Bucky to let out a surprised laugh, yeah, he could work with that.

But no, Steve’s never been that lucky.

The door slams into the wall and then immediately rebounds back, hitting Steve straight in the nose and causing him to collapse in the doorway. His eyes are watering and his nose is throbbing and he’s laying on the floor in a ball of pain when Bucky rushes over from where he’d been kneading some bread dough.

“Holy shit Steve, are you OK?” Bucky asks, trying to pry Steve’s hands away from his face so he can see the damage, and getting flour everywhere in the process.

“Hrrgh,” Steve replies, clutching at his poor nose and trying to sink into the floor so Bucky won’t have to see him like this.

“C’mon, lemme take a look. I’ve been in my fair share of fights with doors so I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve sighs and gingerly removes his hands from his face, clenching his eyes tight because seeing Bucky this close will give him heart palpitations, he’s sure of it.

He feels a gentle hand prod at his quickly swelling nose and winces, but Bucky just shushes him and pats him on the shoulder.

“Well, good news is it doesn’t look like it’s broken. Bad news is I think the door won.”

Steve chokes out a laugh and finally lets his eyes drift open. He should have kept them closed. Bucky is so gorgeous it makes his breath catch, mouth crooked in a grin and hair swept up in a messy bun, streaks of cinnamon and flour on his cheeks, covering his apron.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Steve blurts out before he can stop himself, and immediately wants to smack his face against the door, repeatedly.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, smiling even wider now, and shit, Steve is a goner, take him out of the oven right now because he is _done_ , and it’s all Bucky’s fault.

“Yeah. I - well, I just wanted to see if you’d like to maybe get something to eat some time? I mean, I guess we eat together all the time, but usually you make the food and you never let me pay for it and, well, I was thinking we could go to a fancy restaurant - not that Cannella isn’t fancy, shit, it’s just - I mean, you work here so I guess it’s different but -”

“Steve,” Bucky interjects, before Steve lets himself get too worked up. “I’d love to go to dinner at a fancy restaurant with you. Although I can’t promise I won’t spend half the night criticizing their bread quality." 

Bucky grins at him and Steve’s pretty sure the world tilts under his feet because that’s the only explanation he can find for why he stumbles forward into the warm solidity of Bucky’s chest (the other explanation is that Bucky grabbed his hand and yanked him up, but Steve’s still a little of it so he figures he gets a free pass on this one). Steve reaches a hand up and traces it along the ridiculous jawline that he first took note of, then trails his fingers across Bucky’s soft bottom lip, letting it linger for a moment before dropping his hand back to Bucky’s shoulder.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, eyes flicking down to Bucky’s mouth deliberately.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, then leans down and presses their mouths together before Steve can so much as close his eyes. It’s a nice kiss, soft and gentle and warm. Bucky smells like flour. But Steve wants to know what he tastes like, so he nibbles on Bucky’s full bottom lip and when Bucky’s lips part on a gasp he slips his tongue inside, tasting bitter coffee and cinnamon. 

“Fuck,” Steve says when they pull apart, foreheads resting together. “That was. Wow.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Bucky quips, pulling Steve into another kiss by the front of his shirt.

Steve makes the wise decision not to respond and focuses all his attention on kissing the everloving shit out of Bucky.

The next thing Steve knows, someone’s knocking on the door and calling Bucky’s name. “I really hope you two aren’t naked,” Clint yells before flinging the door open and stepping inside.  

“Well,” he says, glancing over at where Steve’s got Bucky pushed up against the wall, thigh shoved between Bucky’s legs, “at least your clothes are still on.”

~end~


End file.
